


A love, at what cost?

by smugdensmitchell



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Fake Dating, M/M, The Proposal Movie AU that no one asked for, alternative universe, and Ben is essentially Sandra Bullock in a suit, because it’s one of my fave movies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22835635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smugdensmitchell/pseuds/smugdensmitchell
Summary: The rule when working at Branning's Dating Agency is simple: no romantic relationships pursued outside of work.Ben Mitchell has a rule somewhat similar: notimefor romantic relationships, solelybecauseof work.But, circumstance has it that Benneedsa romantic relationship, and it's Callum's job to provide such.A love to keep up someone's appearances. A love to pay someone's wages.A love,at what cost?
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 49
Kudos: 187





	1. a phone call (or three)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovely people!!!
> 
> I had this idea for an AU, very loosely based on the movie 'The Proposal', and I've decided to give it a whirl!! 
> 
> Just as it was with the other multi-chapter I wrote, I have no idea how long this will be, or how long it will take me, but again - let's just roll with it!
> 
> Really hope you enjoy!! 
> 
> So much love xx

There were three things in this world that Ben Mitchell cared about, and three things **only.**

His daughter, money, and sex. 

Granted, it felt kind of weird having those three things within the same sentence, but it was nothing short of the truth. In fact, had it not been for Lexi proving to him otherwise, Ben would’ve bet his entire life on the fact that he no longer had the capability to engage with _anything_ that didn’t hold materialistic value, especially not on an emotional or intellectual level. 

Because, Ben held a reputation of not feeling much _at all,_ truth be told. Like, ever. Unless it was towards his bank account, of course, or the stranger in his bed (for a very limited time period). And so, when it came to the reciprocation of love, of emotions, of _trust,_ Ben seldom participated, rather investing his time and energy into his work. 

“Yes, at least that will get you a _return,_ I get it,” his mum, Kathy, mutters despairingly down the phone, tired of the repetitive conversations often had with her son, all despite lack of seeing him. “One day you’ll meet someone who’ll change your mind.” 

Ben rolls his eyes, making a mockery of the statement in the privacy of his own flat, no one around to pass judgement. “Ain’t gonna happen mum,” he returns, calmly, flicking on the kettle as he speaks. “I’ll see you next week, yeah?” 

Kathy hums down the phone disapprovingly, but there’s a submission in her tone that suggests she’s used to her son’s dismissive manor. “So I needn’t bother expecting a nice gentleman to arrive with you, no?” she adds, her voice lined thin with hope. 

“Bye, mum.” 

Hitting the 'end call' button purposefully, Ben throws his phone onto the kitchen counter, holding very little regard for the fragility of the device. “Nice gentleman,” he mutters under his breath with a shake of the head, smirking at the unlikelihood of such as he does so, “bless her.” 

The thing is, Ben doesn’t even class _himself_ as a nice gentleman; nowhere near such, if he’s being brutally honest. Ben Mitchell is a businessman. An entrepreneur. Married to his work. Being one of the most successful car salesmen in his field, not to mention building said mechanical empire from scratch himself, Ben had no time for relationships; no time to practice selflessness in the form of romantic gestures and date nights, communication and compromise. 

Fully committed to his career Ben was, and fully committed to his career Ben will stay. 

That’s why, 4 years ago when the majority of his family made the decision to move out of Walford, Ben made the opposite call and decided to stay put. His Mum and Dad (separated, but civil nonetheless), his step-mother Sharon and her son Dennis, along with his sister Louise, his half-brother Ian and Ian’s son Bobby, had all made the decision to leave the grey skies of London behind, each in a bid to locate the sunshine in Portugal. 

Louise’s mum, Lisa, had resided there for years, and Phil and Sharon spent enough time out there to argue the very same, if Ben was being honest. It made perfect sense for them to be out there, if Ben was being honest. 

But, as for Ben? Well, his life was right here in Walford. And, ever true to his word, by ‘life’, Ben meant Lexi, his job, and last but not least, the local gay bar.

Or, in other words, _his daughter, and money, and sex._

Granted, there’s Lexi’s mum, Lola, too, and Ben cares for her a hell of a lot. Together, he’s proud of how they’ve raised their daughter; really proud. Somehow, despite their flaws amidst the past and the present, the three of them had managed to form a somewhat wonderful, albeit rather dysfunctional, family unit. 

Ben’s emotional absence in Lexi’s earlier years is certainly not something he’s proud of, and he feels forever in debt to Lola for giving him the chance to prove himself as a father. As a friend. 

_As a person._

It’s the first time Ben has ever really proved himself in anything other than his work, and he’d bet his whole life on it being the last time he ever does so. 

His work is how he proves himself. 

Ben **is** his work. 

It’s just the way it is. 

… 

“What do you mean it’s ‘just the way it is’, Rainie? I ain’t accepting that as an answer,” Callum states agitatedly, the flat of his palm running down his face in despair. 

Rainie, his obnoxious excuse of a boss, doesn’t try all that hard to repress her smirk, her hands coming together in a formal clasp as she leans over her desk to speak to him. 

Or _at_ him, Callum thinks. 

“Listen, darlin’,” she starts, staring him dead in the face. “I called that bloke up an’ I asked him why he wasn’t coughing up the agreed amount, yeah? He told me that you didn’t _perform_ the agreed amount, babe. It’s only fair I knock that off your wages, init?” she reasons, somewhat smugly. “It ain’t the agencies problem that you didn’t take your A-Game with you, and it certainly ain’t my problem.” 

“Take my A-Game?” Callum scoffs, stumbling over his next words as he struggles to comprehend the idiocy of the justification. “Wh—Rainie, I...I accompanied the bloke to a school reunion, what the hell was he expecting me to do? Get down on one knee in the middle of the flamin’ circle of chairs?” 

As his boss eyes him up, Callum receives the immediate, unspoken warning of ‘watch your tone’, refraining himself from further outburst by taking a deep, steady breath. “Look, all I’m sayin’ is I did exactly what was expected of me. I-I read the notes beforehand, I showed up with him, I laughed at his jokes, I answered any questions I was asked, I even gave him a peck before I went to the flipping _toilet,”_ Callum implores, exasperated. “S-seriously, what more did the guy want from me?” 

Rainie shrugs, seemingly careless of her employees reasoning, far more interested in the loss of financial gain. “Beats me,” she mutters, absent-mindedly, “but he put up a hell of a fight on that phone...I couldn’t possibly argue.” 

“Couldn’t be bothered to, more like,” Callum mumbles under his breath, regretting the decision within an instant as he senses a glare from the other side of the desk. “Uh, sorry,” he adds, sheepishly. 

“Listen, we get new clients in ‘ere everyday, darlin’,” Rainie explains, somewhat carelessly, “I’ll have you fixed up with summing else in no time. I got your brother sorted, didn’t I?” she grins with confidence. 

Callum frowns, his brows inverting as he represses an eye-roll. “Stuart’s datin’ _you,_ Rainie,” he says, matter-of-factly. “He ain’t gettin’ paid for that.” 

“Well, he should be,” his boss retorts, slamming a hand on the desk and throwing her head back in shameless laughter. “Go on, get yourself home. I’ll be in touch if I hear anythin’, alright?” 

And, with little energy or will left to argue, Callum does exactly that, venturing on yet another journey home as he contemplates driving to the airport instead, booking a one-way ticket to anywhere but here. 

Or, you know, perhaps just lying on the runway and waiting for the next plane to squash the living _daylights_ out of him. 

Yes, he’s kidding, but _yes,_ he also kind of means it. 

There’s no argument to be had, death probably would be less painful than his sorry state of a job. 

Callum had worked at Branning’s Dating Agency for just under two years now, and at first, it hadn’t seemed all that horrific. It was essentially the PG version of an Escort Agency, just, as the prefix suggests, _without_ the offer of sexual relations. 

In basic terms, Callum was an _available-to-hire_ date. A boyfriend. A husband. Whatever it was that the client wanted him to be, well, that’s what he became. 

Over the last 22 months, he’d found himself in some obscure situations to say the least, ranging from stand-in boyfriend for the single son at the family dinner, to the beard-come-husband of a closeted gay woman at a strictly Catholic wedding. 

The latter was nothing short of tragically comical, really; a gay woman paired up with a gay man, both equally as unsettled at the thought of being physically affectionate with the other, but both doing so for the sake of their respective rewards.

On the client’s part, that reward was keeping up appearances. 

On Callum’s part, it was simply getting paid. 

Don’t get him wrong, the money wasn’t anything extraordinary, but it was good. Good enough to cover his rent and the bills, for sure, good enough to leave Callum with a substantial margin to live comfortably. 

But, just not _quite_ good enough to justify the pitiful effect that the job had on his own love life.

Still, just like every job, working for the agency had pros as well as cons, one of which was meeting Lola Pearce. 

The 23 year old mother of one is Callum’s closest friend, and he’d like to think he is hers, too. Confident, supportive and fiercely loyal, Lola, along with her daughter, brings the love to Callum’s life that he’s missed out on, what with his mother and father being very much absent. 

Sure, Callum has his brother, Stuart, and a couple of other friends here and there, but should he ever need anything, come rain or shine, it’s always Lola that pulls through for him in the end. 

She was the first person that Callum came out to, the first person he’d ever properly cried in front of, the first person that showed him a love that wasn’t somewhat conditional. 

And, in a job like Callum’s, it’s crucial to have someone there who gets it, someone who actually understands. There are certain terms and conditions of such that can make it pretty lonely, the first and foremost being as follows: 

There can be no romantic relationships pursued outside of work. 

Now, of course, logically speaking, it did make sense. In a place as huge as London, day in and day out, Lord knows who you’ll come across. Honestly, God forbid if the Catholic mother of that closeted woman ever saw Callum strolling hand in hand with another person, let alone a _man._

The agency would lose money, Callum would lose his job, and the client would most likely lose her head. 

That’s why, for both him and Lola (and anyone else working at the agency, for that matter), dating couldn’t ever be on the cards. Callum had Lola, Lola had Callum, and together they’d wallow in their equivalent self-pity, drawing the same inconclusive result every single time. 

There was nothing they could do, it was the nature of the job, and that’s exactly what Lola echoes to Callum when he calls her later that evening. 

“I know it is, I know,” Callum mutters down the phone, holding it clumsily between his ear and his shoulder as he attempts to prepare dinner in the meantime. “But, it was my word against his, Lola, a-and I did everything he asked me to,” he adds, grabbing the chopping board from the cupboard and throwing it onto the kitchen top in frustration. “I just wish Rainie would stick up for us, for once, you know? The people actually workin’ for her.” 

Lola lets out a bitter laugh, rolling her eyes at the receiving end of the line. “Yeah, hell will sooner freeze over, babe,” she says, knowingly, “so don’t go holdin’ your breath.” 

Callum sighs defeatedly, humming in agreement all the while. “Nah, I won’t,” he muses, “I know better than that, Lo.” 

“Good man,” she smiles down the phone, but Callum can just about make out the muffled sound of a small voice in the background. “Wh—sorry, two seconds, Callum,” Lola mumbles, and then a little louder, “...Lex, I can’t hear you!” 

Patient throughout the silence, Callum takes the opportunity to continue gathering the ingredients for this evening’s dinner, opting for speakerphone as he starts to chop some of the veg. 

“Sorry, Callum, I’m gonna have to go,” Lola’s voice sounds through the phone, her tone somewhat miffed. “Ben’s rocked up an’ he’s already wreaking havoc.” 

_Of course,_ Callum thinks, _Ben._

Ben who Callum hasn’t met, but cannot stand from impression alone. 

Ben, the father of Lola’s child, seemingly devoted to his work first and his daughter second. 

Ben, the one that sleeps with men like they’re going out of fashion (Lola’s words, not his), but refuses to actually commit to anyone. 

_That Ben,_ he ponders. _Only **that** Ben could master such inconvenient timing._

“Don’t apologise, Lo,” Callum reassures despite his thought process, but the cheer in his tone is an act of pretence, “I uh...I wish you luck,” he laughs. 

“I’ll need it,” Lola retorts, disdain seeping through, before going back to their usual manner of goodbye, “love ya.” 

And, upon returning the endearment, Callum hangs up the phone. 

…

“Oooh, _love ya,”_ Ben mocks, unapologetic nosiness etched within his features, “have we finally got a man on the scene?” He tugs lightly at her high ponytail, laughing heartily as Lola shoves him away. 

“No,” she jibes back, bluntly, “still just you, unfortunately.” 

“Harsh,” Ben frowns, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “Good job I’ve got a thick skin, init?” 

Simply rolling her eyes, Lola turns her back to him, reaching into the fridge to get some orange juice out for Lexi. “What do you want, anyway?” she ponders, only half interested, “you was kickin’ right off before you realised I was on the phone.” 

“Oh,” Ben exclaims, shaking his head as the despair seemingly resurfaces having been reminded of such, “so, you’ll never guess what?” 

Lola pours the juice into a glass for their daughter, putting it onto the table for Lexi to drink with her dinner. “What?” she asks, more out of obligation than anything else. 

“So I had mum on the phone this mornin’, yeah?” Ben starts, pulling out a chair from beneath the table and sitting opposite his daughter. “She was bangin’ on about my love life again…” 

“Lack of, you mean,” Lola interrupts, still pottering around in the kitchen. 

“...yeah well, you an’ me both,” Ben hits back, quickly. _“Anyway,_ as I was saying, I tell her that she needn’t bother expecting a fella on my arm when I go over there next week..”

“You still going?” Lola cuts in for the second time, turning to face him and resting back against the kitchen counter.

Ben frowns in confusion, growing increasingly tired of her disruptions. “Yes,” he snaps, “yes, of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Dunno,” she shrugs, mindlessly, before muttering, “bit of a nightmare, init?” 

“Yes, Lola, it is, a-and it’s become even _more_ of a nightmare now,” Ben despairs. 

“How d’ya mean?” 

Lexi sighs from where she’s sitting, pushing some chicken nuggets around the plate with her fork. “He keeps trying to tell you, mummy,” she starts, raising her eyebrows at her bemused father, “and you keep talking over him!” 

Ben grins, reaching his palm across the table to give her a little high five, with Lexi shooting a somewhat toothless smile back at him as Lola goes quiet, tutting incredulously. 

“Thank you, baby,” Ben starts, shooting a grateful wink in his daughter’s direction. “So, she video calls me about an hour ago, yeah? Which ain’t very _mum_ considerin’ she knows how busy I am. But, y’know, I answer, an’ you’ll never flaming believe what she tells me…”

Lola’s mouth upturns into a frown. “What?”

… 

**_One Hour Earlier..._  
**

“You what?!” Ben says, almost spitting his drink onto the screen of his phone, “since when?!” 

“Since this afternoon,” Kathy explains, seemingly unimpressed herself, “a-and they reckon they wanna do it when you’re here.” 

“Well, they needn’t bend over backwards on my account,” Ben deadpans, his expression motionless, “because I dunno if you’ve noticed, mum, but I really couldn’t care less.” 

“Oh Ben, don’t be like that. This is your Dad we’re talkin’ about,” his mum reasons with him, but it’s evident from Ben’s face that he’s having none of it. 

“Yes, mum, and Sharon,” he points out, flatly. “They’re both _well_ past it now, I-I just don’t see why they feel the need to claim it all on a piece of paper.” 

“Mmm,” Kathy hums in evident agreement, “regardless, they want you there for it, Ben, so I, uh, just thought I’d give you the heads up.” She trails off at the end, tuning into the voice muttering away in the background, just as Ben does too. “Oh, give it a rest, Ian!” Kathy shouts, leaning away from the phone screen as she does so. 

“No no, let him say his bit,” Ben probes, infuriated, yet intrigued, by his half-brother’s taunting. 

“I said," a voice pipes up from a short distance behind Kathy, “you ain’t wantin’ to come to the wedding because _you_ ain’t got a wedding date,'’ Ian smirks, making himself visible now. 

Ben laughs, harshly. “What, and you have?” 

His mum shoots him a look of ‘don’t go there’, but unfortunately for all involved, Ben already has. 

“Yes, actually,” Ian announces proudly, shouting a little to ensure he’s heard above Kathy’s groan. “Her name’s Gloria,” he grins, “and she’s Portugese.” 

“Portugese, wow…” Ben muses, smirking. “Is she blind, as well?” he asks, innocent sincerity painted on his face to elicit a rise out of his older brother. 

“She can barely speak a word of flipping English, I know that much,” Kathy mumbles, bringing her face closer to the screen in a bid to attempt secrecy, of course to no avail. 

“Errr, I heard that!” Ian retorts, shoving his mum in the shoulder, “at least I’ve got a bit of interest in me,” he adds, evidently jibing at Ben, “must be hard, is it?” 

The younger man furrows his brow, never willing to let Ian succeed at the one-upmanship. “I get plenty of interest, thank you very much, and I make _very_ good use of that interest, too,” Ben insinuates, eliciting a colossal roll of the eyes from his mum.

“Listen, it’s all well and good gettin’ your fulfillment from cheap hook-ups, Ben, but it’s a bit sad an’ lonely when push comes to shove, init?” Ian lectures, obviously enjoying his view from the moral high ground. “At some point, you’re gonna have to grow up,” he adds, before turning his head towards Kathy. “I told ya, mum, he’s never gonna find someone.” 

Ben clenches his jaw, largely unwilling to let his brother come out on top with this one. Somehow, it’s that very unwillingness that prevents him from engaging his brain before he speaks, and next thing he knows, he’s making the bold statement. 

“Actually, Ian, I already have.” 

… 

**_Present Time..._ **

“I don’t get it,” Lola says, trying to piece everything together bit by it, “why not just tell them you was makin’ it up to annoy Ian?” She clears the leftovers on Lexi’s plate into the bin, giving her daughter a swift kiss on the head as she leaves the kitchen to watch TV. 

“Are we talkin’ about the same Ian, here?” Ben hisses back, baffled by her suggestion. “It’s bad enough ‘avin him wind me up about being single, can you imagine the stick I’d get if he found out I’d made up an imaginary boyfriend _just_ to stop him pickin’ on me?” He shakes his head, running both hands down his face in exasperation. “It don’t even bear thinkin’ about, a-and don’t even get me started on my mum.” 

“What about her?” 

“Well, I already told her once this morning that I was quite literally flyin’ solo, then I tell her I’m actually already _in_ a relationship an’ I just wanted to surprise her...I can’t change my mind a third time, can I?” Ben flails, very quickly losing patience with the situation. “She’ll think I’m some sort of compulsive liar!” 

Lola mutters a small, but prominent _‘she ain’t wrong’_ under her breath, earning herself a deadly glare from Ben. “Don’t look at me like that,” she hisses, picking up some used, scrunched up kitchen roll and throwing it in his direction, “besides, what’s this gotta do with me, anyway?!”

“Because,” Ben starts, elongating his words for effect, “I’m gonna need to use that agency of yours to sort summing out.” 

Lola’s jaw slackens into shock, the desperation of the man before her sinking in, all of a sudden. “You’re actually gonna take someone over there?” she queries in disbelief, “just to prove a point to your muppet of a brother?” 

There’s a passing silence as Lola awaits the change of Ben’s facial expression, expecting him to cave any second, to throw the kitchen roll back at her and admit that _of course_ he was joking. And yet, he stares her dead in the face, barely moving an inch as Lola looks back at him. 

She sighs, half amused, half entirely floored. 

“I’ll uh...I’ll go get you the number.”


	2. the nature of the job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, you lovely bunch!! 
> 
> Thanks so much for the positive feedback on chapter one - I'm really enjoying writing this story, so I'm thrilled that people are enjoying reading it, too! 
> 
> Hope this chapter is alright for you all :) 
> 
> lots of love xx

Ben drums his fingers against the back of the empty chair beside him, waiting patiently for the call of his name. On Tuesday, he’d made a call to Branning’s Dating Agency, enquiring about the potential _(essential)_ hire of a handsome gentleman to accompany him to Portugal for a week. 

His initial meeting took place on Wednesday, and it had gone relatively smoothly for the most part, meeting with Rainie, the manager of the place, and discussing the options available at such short notice. 

He’d had to fill out some paperwork, ticking boxes and circling particular traits and features, identifying exactly what it is that he’s looking for (more so _exactly_ what it is that he’d described to Ian and his mum on the phone the other day), hoping that Rainie could find someone to match. 

If Ben was being honest, the whole process felt a little bit...well, _immoral._ There he was, picking out eye colours and height preferences, honing in on pedantic things like ‘good at cooking’ and ‘significantly taller than me’ in a bid to select the _perfect_ fake boyfriend to pay for and parade in front of his _far-from-perfect_ family. 

But, desperate times, desperate measures and all of that; it really wasn’t the time for Ben to be making observations on the position of his moral compass. 

And so, he’d gone ahead with it, submitting the paperwork and awaiting the phone call from Rainie, who vowed to be in touch after a thorough analysis of her available clientele. 

Ben had received that very call this miserable Friday morning, with the redhead swearing to him that she had found an _incredible_ match, totally in line with all that he was looking for, even down to those ludicrous, pedantic specifications. 

“He’s six foot, Mr. Mitchell!” Rainie had exclaimed down the phone, her enthusiasm almost too much to bear. “Oh, and he’s _renowned_ for his cooking...I remember hearing he wants to be a chef, come to think of it.” 

With a mixture of intrigue and desperation, Ben had agreed to come through and meet the gentleman in question this afternoon, eager to confirm whether or not the individual _was_ , in fact, what he was looking for. 

“Ben Mitchell?” an inquisitive voice sounds, and Ben’s eyes meet with Rainie’s as her head peers around the side of her office door. “Would you, uh, would you like to come through?” 

Ben rises from his seat in the waiting area, following the voice through the door and into the office. In the moment, he feels grateful for the homely decor in the place; plush chandeliers and slick, white walls, the mist grey, featherlike rug beneath Rainie’s desk bringing a necessary warmth to the place. Without such, this would all feel a little clinical, almost like a dreaded appointment. 

_Off putting,_ some might say. 

“Take a seat,” Rainie offers, gesturing towards the chair tucked beneath the desk, “he, uh, he shouldn’t be too long now.” She hovers a little longer by the door as Ben makes himself comfortable, fidgeting distractedly. “Can I get you anything? Tea, Coffee…?” 

“Just a man, please,” Ben interrupts in jest, unintentionally matching Rainie’s sense of humour. 

She laughs at an unnecessary, bold volume, mumbling “you’re very funny, you are,” under her breath, loud enough, of course, for the young man to hear. In the face of Ben declining the offer of a hot drink, she ceases to linger by the door, heading over to her own chair behind the desk and sliding into it. 

_Boss is a bit of a nutcase,_ Ben thinks, filing a mental note of such under the tab ‘conversation starters with the employee’, just in case the man in question didn’t have much to say for himself. 

“I think this is him now,” Rainie muses, yanking Ben from his train of thought and drawing his attention to the office door, now being pushed open. “Very nice of you to show your face,” she deadpans. 

A tall, brunette man makes his way into the room, dressed subtly in a casual, navy jumper and faded blue jeans. His body language is gentle, noticeably so, and his blue eyes are woven with kindness, an approachable nature. _Naivety._

“Sorry, I, uh—my tyre went flat and then I—” he begins, coming to a brutal halt as Rainie holds her hand up, prominently. 

“I don’t need the borin’ details,” she says, flatly. It’s only when she looks up at him, then looks across to Ben, that the guy even _acknowledges_ the third presence in the room, having been oblivious up until this point. “Callum, this is Ben,” Rainie introduces, a somewhat cheerier front on this time, “and Ben, this is Callum.” 

Ben’s eyes journey upwards to the man standing before him, giving him the once over as he does so. Truth be told - _and how could Ben put this?_ \- well, he definitely wouldn’t kick him out of bed on a morning. 

Although, as disappointing as it may be, it isn’t about physical attraction. Not _really,_ anyway. 

Kathy, half of the reason he’s doing this in the first place, will care _far_ more about his “boyfriend’s” personality than the aesthetic of him, that's for sure. 

“Callum,” Ben grins charmingly, extending a hand out for the other man to shake, “hi.”

It’s willingly accepted, although the taller man’s facial expression shows more insecurity than confidence. “S’nice to meet you,” he mumbles, softly. 

Ben throws him a wink that’s almost involuntary, helpless to do anything but flirt. “I’ve got a feelin’ you’re gonna be worth every penny.”

“I, uh, I hope so…” Callum stutters, forcing out an apprehensive laugh as he lets Ben’s hand go in awkward motion. His smile is wide and infectious nonetheless, _memorable even,_ and Ben can’t help but feel like he’s seen it before. 

In fact, he’s edging on **certain.**

You don’t just forget a smile like that, even with a heart as ice cold as Ben’s. 

“Okay, so...oh, I ain’t got another seat Callum, you’re gonna have to stand,” Rainie mutters, the look on her face making it clear that she doesn’t care all that much. 

Ben, still trying to figure out whether he really does recognise the man before him, rises in one swift movement, kicking his chair back effortlessly as he stands to one side. “Here,” he says, gesturing to the chair with his arm, “take mine.” 

Callum stares at him blankly, raising both eyebrows and pursing his lips a little, the realisation that Ben is being serious dawning on him. “Wh—oh no, it’s...you don’t have to do that,” he says, his tone light and dismissing as his gaze flicks rapidly between Ben and his boss. 

“And what d’ya reckon my mother would say if she knew I’d left my _boyfriend_ standin’ there while I got myself comfortable?” Ben asks with grandeur, two hands against his chest as though his heart bled at the thought. He shoots a joking smile in Callum’s direction, “I ain’t been raised like that.” 

“Y’know I ain’t gettin’ paid for this bit,” Callum responds a little gormlessly, struggling to process the bold nature of Ben’s presence, “You, uh...we ain’t boyfriends yet.” 

Sighing loudly in return, Ben shoots Rainie a look. “No flies on this one,” he deadpans as the older man continues to hover awkwardly beside him, evidently trying to calculate the miscommunication. Ben flops back down into his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose with his finger and thumb, “forget it.” 

“Great first impression,” Rainie mutters over the desk to Callum, before glancing apologetically at Ben. “Let’s just get on with it, shall we?” she adds, looking back towards the taller man with disdain. “I ain’t got all day. I’m pretty sure Mr. Mitchell ain’t, either.”

There’s a momentary pause that follows, Callum’s mouth ever-so-slightly agape as realisation dawns on him. He stumbles a little over his words, trying to verbalise the pieces that he’s placed together. “Wh—are you—do you mean Mitchell as in…as in _Mitchell_ Mitchell?” 

“Sorry, I don’t...I don’t follow,” Ben responds bemusedly, raising his eyebrows at Callum as Rainie huffs in annoyance, little attempt made to be subtle. 

“Are you Ben Mitchell?” the older man queries further, his brow furrowed in both shock and confusion, “as in like... _Lola’s_ Ben Mitchell?” 

And suddenly it falls into place. That’s why Ben recognises him, _of course_ that’s why. He’s seen Callum in the photographs, heard Lola refer to him pretty much _every single time_ she talks about work. It’s him. 

“I’m, uh, I’m Lexi’s dad, yeah…” Ben trails off, smiling fondly as he speaks of his daughter. 

Callum’s eyebrows journey upwards, his lips forming a thin line as he nods in understanding. “Knew I recognised you from somewhere,” he mumbles, a small smile appearing on his face, and Ben can’t help but sense that it’s somewhat forced. “I’ve, uh...I’ve heard all about you.” 

The younger man grins with attempted charm, preparing to make a remark somewhere along the lines of ‘all good things, of course’, but Rainie interjects before he gets the chance to do so. 

“So, you two know each other?” she asks with intrigue, eyes flitting between the pair of them as she clicks at the top of her pen, “because I don’t usually do mates rates.” 

“We ain’t exactly _mates,_ Rainie,” Callum points out, and it comes across a little harsher than he’d meant for it to. He glances sideways at the younger man, curious as to how Ben had received the comment, but his face is relatively expressionless. It’s from the lack of reaction that Callum assumes Ben didn’t notice the comment. Well, either that or he just didn’t _care._

But, Ben _had_ noticed, and he’d been a little caught off guard by the determination in Callum’s tone, keen for his boss to know that he and Ben did **not** associate with one another. 

Still, standing by the perception that he wished for others to receive, the younger man didn’t react, rather letting the meeting commence with no further interruptions.

…

It’s around 6pm when Ben arrives home that evening, throwing his coat over the back of the sofa with exhaustion. It had been a long day, much longer than he’d anticipated, having been at the car lot from 7am, and the afternoon meeting at the agency lasting just over 3 hours. 

The majority of it had consisted of more questions, more terms and conditions, even _more_ paperwork, but no conclusive decision as of yet. Instead, it had been agreed that Ben and Callum should meet, alone this time, to get to know one another a little better, given that Rainie had done most of the talking today.

Swinging the fridge door open, Ben grabs himself a beer, coming to an instant decision that he’s ordering takeout tonight. He barely has the energy to think, let alone cook, and loading the dishwasher afterwards doesn’t even bear _thinking_ about. 

Of course, it’s moments like this that allow Ben’s mind to wander a little, contemplating what life would be like if he _did_ have a boyfriend. Someone to prepare a meal for him on days like today, to run him a bath whilst he complains about idiot clients and poorly performing employees. Someone to even out the balance of his work-to-life ratio, accompaniment in Portugal that he _didn’t_ actually have to pay for. 

But, of course, there’s the contrary, too. The fact that Ben doesn’t have to worry about letting anyone in, and consequently, about letting anyone _down._ Ben has total freedom in what he does now; access to sex without the attachment, access to actions without consequences, a **no access** policy when it comes to his heart. There are boundaries in place, most of which only his daughter can get through, really. And even then, there are boundaries _within_ boundaries. 

It’s easier that way. It always has been, ever since last time...but he doesn’t think about that. He doesn’t talk about it. 

He gets on, business as usual. 

Pulling his phone out of his back pocket, Ben opens up his contact list, scrolling until he finds the name that he’s looking for. 

_Rainie._

His thumb hovers consciously over it, well aware that he’d told the redhead he would call once he‘d arrived home. 

“Well, Callum can do tomorrow,” she’d said, offering her client’s availability for the two of them to meet, “if that’s alright with you?” 

Callum had looked at her strangely, confusion etched upon his features. “I, uh...Rainie, I don’t usually work on Saturday’s unless…”

“Unless you have to,” she’d cut in, folding her arms. “And...this is me saying that you have to.”

“Well, I’m meant to be at work,” was Ben’s response, trying to suppress a smirk at the interaction between the two, “but I’ll give someone a ring on the way home an’ see if I can get it covered.” 

And so, he’d done exactly that, calling Jags and persuading him to come into the car lot tomorrow. The 27 year old had been somewhat miffed, whining that Saturday’s were meant to be his day off, but Ben’s phone call was more of an instruction than a request. 

Besides, given that he leaves for Portugal on Wednesday, Ben needs to meet with Callum as soon as possible. After all, if Callum does end up being the one to accompany Ben, he’ll have the flights to book, the insurance to get, the _wedding attire_ to pack. Realistically, there’s little time to waste. 

That’s why he clicks on the contact number, hits the call button and informs Rainie of his availability, so she can get the ball rolling as soon as possible.

 _Then,_ of course, he calls the pizza shop.

… 

“Something smells good,” a voice chimes, the door following such with a loud slam. “I’m absolutely starving, bruv,” comes next. 

Stuart, Callum thinks, rolling his eyes as he glances up at the clock. “You’re early,” he muses, noticing the fact that it’s only 7pm, a full _half hour_ before his brother is meant to arrive. 

“Not early,” Stuart replies, kicking his shoes off and making his way into the kitchenette of Callum’s flat, “just _hungry.”_

For about a year now, it’s been their tradition to see one another on a Friday night. Before such a thing was put in place, Callum had to deal with Stuart’s impromptu visits and high demands, rocking up on random occasions and expecting to be fed, even when Callum had only made enough for one. 

He’d be settling in front of the television for the night when his brother would suddenly make an appearance, taking control of the TV remote and talking loud enough for the _neighbours_ to hear. 

And, as if that wasn’t enough, ever since his brother had started dating Rainie, Callum seemed to be finding it even harder to separate his working life from his personal life. 

That’s why, after much deliberation of how Stuart would take it, Callum took the leap, suggesting the idea of alternating Friday’s. It’s the only night in a week that his boss isn’t available to act as Stuart’s _lap dog,_ meaning that Callum could go round his brother’s without the impending _doom_ of seeing her. 

One week, Callum cooks for him, and the next week, Stuart cooks for Callum (although 90% of the time, the latter results in a takeaway), and it's a system he finds the most tolerable when it comes to spending time with his elder brother. 

A single day out of seven. He can manage that. 

“How was your day, bruv?” Stuart asks, peeking over Callum’s shoulder and eyeing up the curry in the pan, “anything exciting to tell your big bro?” 

“Nope,” Callum says, swerving the interrogation in a desperate bid to talk about something else, “just work, init?” 

Stuart hums in response, his tone evidently dissatisfied with the answer. “Bet Rainie was in a crackin’ mood today, was she?” he chimes, picking up two onions from the kitchen counter and juggling them, much to the younger man’s annoyance. “I surprised her last night with a home cooked meal, absolutely over the moon, she was! Honestly bruv, you shoulda’ seen her face, she—” 

“Can you stop doing that, please?” Callum interrupts. He reaches out a hand to catch one of the onions mid-air, far from in the mood for this kind of behavior tonight. “Besides, she can’t have been _that_ over the moon,” he mutters, letting out a loud sigh as the ringtone starts to sound from his phone, “you wanna see the job she’s puttin’ me on.” 

He marches over to his coat, pulling out his phone from the pocket and eyeing up the caller ID. “Speak of the devil,” he mutters, answering it reluctantly, “Rainie, hi…yes, now’s as good a time as ever, I’m just...oh, has he now?” 

Stuart listens intently, making educated guesses as to what’s being said on the phone between his brother and his girlfriend. Callum appears to be far from impressed, wedging the mobile awkwardly against his ear as he makes note of something on the top of a takeout leaflet. “Right, okay...y-yes, I know where that is,” he mutters down the line, shaking his head at Stuart to accentuate his irritance, “alright well, thanks for letting me know…yeah, I will do.” 

Hitting _‘end call’_ with exaggerated effort, Callum drops his phone onto the kitchen counter, shooting an outraged look in the direction of his brother. _“Crackin’ mood_ today, you reckon?” he deadpans, returning to the stove, “she’s just put me in work tomorrow night.” 

“Ouch,” Stuart says through gritted teeth, “must be important for her to do that.” 

Callum simply grumbles in response, stirring the curry far more aggressively than anyone would deem necessary. “This bloke is _payin’_ her a lot, more like,” he points out. “I mean, you can tell what a self-important _prick_ he is just by the location he’s chosen.” 

“Where is it?” 

“The Artesian,” Callum announces, disbelief scattered around the edges of his tone. 

Stuart nearly chokes on the air, his hand slamming down on the kitchen counter as though he needs support to remain upright. “What? In Marylebone?”

“Yep,” the younger man says, bluntly. “Honestly, j-just let that information sink in. You know they charge about _ten quid_ for a beer?” 

His brother exhales loudly, eyes widened with shock. “Jesus Christ, bruv,” he murmurs, starting to clatter around in the cupboard for plates, “...guy must be loaded.” 

Callum scoffs, an image of the man he met today forming vividly in his head. “Summing like that, yeah.” 

Because, Ben Mitchell _is_ loaded. Beyond loaded, in fact; Lola had told Callum that, herself. According to her, he cares about money more than anything else on this planet. _’He’s been buyin’ Lexi’s affection for years,'_ she'd once said whilst venting to Callum over a glass of wine. 

Apparently, Ben cares about money more than he even cares about himself. And that’s seemingly a _hell_ of a lot.

Far more than Callum can bear, that’s for sure. 

But, he has no choice. _It’s the nature of the job._

This is the man he’s meeting at 7 o'clock tomorrow night.


	3. the test of compatibility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again loves!! 
> 
> I just wanna put out a quick **disclaimer** that Ben/Callum being out of character is to be expected (and this isn't me just excusing shit writing, ha!). 
> 
> For example, the Ben we know and love is a fantastic father, the Ben in this is not, but it's just all part of the AU! So please don't think that I perceive the actual Ben on screen as a terrible dad, this is for the purpose of my story only :) 
> 
> And, now we've cleared that up, let's get to it! 
> 
> Kudos & comments mean the world to me, as always. 
> 
> So much love xxx

Ben can’t remember the last time he woke up to something _other_ than the sound of his alarm, and today is no exception.

Unusual to some it may be, but he has it set _constantly_ , no matter what. In fact, there isn’t a day that _doesn’t_ start with Ben getting out of bed at 6:30am. Even if he isn’t due into the car lot until later, _even_ if he’s got some notch on the bedpost laid in his bed, or worse, even if he’s laid in _their_ bed.

The circumstances are irrelevant. So long as the sun is rising, Ben is too - at 6:30am sharp.

This morning, though, Ben had awoken somewhat _naturally._ There were a few different things that he tried to place the blame upon, like the sun rising that _little_ bit earlier, shining that _little_ bit brighter, or simply the astute judgement of his body clock.

Truthfully, tonight had also been playing on his mind - him, Callum and a _really_ posh bar.

This guy already knows Lola, one of the main figures in Ben’s life. He already knows Lexi, Ben’s _daughter,_ for crying out loud. Conversation about that aspect of Ben’s life would flow _so_ naturally, should his mum ask Callum any questions about such (which, knowing Kathy, she would).

He’s everything that Ben had plucked out of thin air when he was describing his “boyfriend” on the phone the other night; tall, humble and caring, a phenomenal cook with a smile that could bring _world peace._ Ben wanted tonight to go well... _no..._ he **needed** tonight to go well.

There’s some underlying pressure. Maybe _that’s_ what had woken him up.

Or, of course, it could be the fact that Ben kind of _shocked_ himself awake with a brutal reminder...

It was Lexi’s dance show tonight, and Ben had _promised_ his daughter that he’d be there.

Which, you know, _realistically speaking_ , is no different to the very _same_ promise that he’d made last Saturday to take her to rehearsals...and the Saturday before that...and perhaps the two Saturday’s before that one, as well.

Each of them, Ben failed to keep.

Trust him, it isn’t that he doesn’t _want_ to take his daughter to her dance classes; he _especially_ doesn’t want to miss the main performance. It’s just the fact that Ben is busy, _so_ busy... **too** busy. If it’s not the car lot, it’s an external car _deal,_ and if it’s not an external car deal, it’s a favour for someone somewhere down the line of his contacts.

Either way, it’s _always_ work related, and today is no exception.

Well, _kind of._

“Answer me this, Ben, yeah?” Lola snaps at the other end of the line, trying desperately to ignore the somewhat _inhuman_ e noise of Ben crunching his cereal, “why even bother tellin’ her you’re gonna turn up? W-why make promises you can’t even keep?”

Ben sighs, fingers pushing into his temples with stress as he scoops up another mouthful. “Because I thought I _could_ make time this week, Lo, I didn’t realise I’d have this...this _thing_ goin’ on...”

There’s a scoff at the end of the phone. “By this ‘ _thing’_ I assume you mean operation _buy-a-boyfriend_ , hm? At what point did keepin’ up appearances to...to _Ian Beale_ of all people become more important to you than your own daughter?” Lola hisses, lowering her tone as she hears the patter of little feet coming into the living area. “Your _daughter,”_ she reiterates. “Remember her? You ‘av got one.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous, Lola, I would never forget about her,” Ben expresses sincerely, although he realises actions speak much louder than words. He tosses the remainder of his cereal into the bin, abandoning the bowl on the kitchen top as he realises the time. “Look, I-I’m gonna have to go, I…” Ben hesitates, an acknowledgement of sorts that _nothing_ he says can make this better, “jus—just tell Lexi I love her, alright?” he sighs, “and that her daddy wishes her the best of luck.”

“Whatever.”

The phone cuts dead, and Ben knows it’s nothing short of what he deserves, but that doesn’t exactly soften the blow. Lola ending the call means Lola telling Lexi _why_ she’s ended the call. It means Lola telling Lexi that her dad has let her down _again._ It means Lexi’s sad little eyes, that deflated shrug she always does when she’s far more upset than she is angry.

But, Ben needs to meet with Callum, and he needs to meet with him _tonight._ He’s due to fly to Portugal in four days, and, as it stands, there’s a forecast of extreme humiliation and _misery_ if he doesn’t manage to get Callum on board. As is always the case with Ben, emotions that require thought and self-reflection get squashed imminently.

Things have to be business as usual.

…

“The usual, babe?” Lola asks, smiling at Callum as she rises from her seat.

Callum mirrors her kind expression, nodding politely as his friend walks towards the counter, “the usual,” he repeats.

It was unlike them, really, to meet for coffee outside of their respective homes. Drinks? Of course. A meal? Sure. But, a hot drink that they could whip up themselves within a matter of seconds?

Not worth paying for, according to Lola.

And yet, it was her idea to do so on this occasion, letting Callum know that she needed to get out of the house. He’d agreed to meet her at a cafe outside of Walford; close enough to where he lived, so he couldn’t really complain.

To be honest, it was in Callum’s best interests to see Lola today, anyway.

He was infuriated. Fed up. Frustrated beyond _belief._

Sure, Lola hadn’t been informed about Ben yet, and Callum had little intention of changing that; not until it was all set in stone, at least. Regardless though, he’d thought that it would be nice to let off some steam, to vent about _he who shall not be named_ in as subtle a manner as possible.

What Callum _hadn’t_ realised was that Lola, too, wanted to complain about Ben.

One man causing them _both_ grief at the exact same time.

Impressive, almost.

“Thanks,” he mutters politely as Lola places the Americano before him, his hands curling around the warmth of the mug. As she sits down before him, Callum notices the wine glass in her hand, and his eyebrows lift in amusement. “I didn’t know they served that in ‘ere,” he comments.

Lola’s expression barely shifts as she takes a sip. “Neither did I,” she confesses, her shoulders shrugging, “thank _God_ they do though.”

“Tell me about it,” Callum says, taking a swig of his own drink, “I’d have joined you if I’d known...well, if it was at _least_ midday, anyway,” he jibes, earning himself a light smack on the arm from his friend.

“Yeah, well it _will_ be in 10 minutes time,” Lola adds defensively, but her smile gives Callum the reassurance he needs that the blonde has taken no offence. _“This,”_ she exhales dramatically, giving the cafe a quick once over to check if anyone else was passing judgement, “this is what Ben has pushed me to.”

“Wh— _Ben?”_ Callum clarifies, although he can’t say he’s all that surprised given _who_ it is that they’re talking about. “What’s he done now?”

Rolling her eyes as she reflects on the incident from this morning, Lola sighs, knocking back another mouthful of wine. “He’s bailed on Lexi’s dance performance tonight,” she sighs, “after _months_ of her bangin’ on about it, as well. It’s literally _all_ she’s talked about to anyone who’d listen, and her own _dad_ ain’t even gonna be there.”

_Fuck._

Callum shuffles awkwardly in his seat, his collar suddenly feeling a little tight and his tongue a little tied. This is usually the part where he rolls his eyes even _harder_ than Lola, sarcastic utterances like “shock” or “some things never change” slipping the tongue as he shakes his head at another pitiful story about Ben.

But, this time around, he can’t do any of that. It would be engaging in total hypocrisy. Callum **is** the reason Ben can’t make Lexi’s show, after all.

_Then again,_ Callum thinks, _if Ben was that good of a dad, he would just cancel._

And, if Callum was that good of a friend...he would just cancel, too.

But, he simply can’t afford to, not with the way his financial state is looking at the minute. Living where Callum lives, he _just_ about scrapes through with rent, and that’s not to mention bills, survival necessities _and_ pleasantries like the coffee he’s drinking now.

Callum is getting a decent bonus for working a Saturday night, _alone._ He can’t lose out on that.

Does that make him a shitty friend? On this occasion, _perhaps._ But, not as shit of a friend as Ben is a shit _father_. That makes him feel a tad better, at least.

“Did he say why?” Callum offers, pathetically. It’s about all he can muster up right now.

“Well, he said he didn’t realise he’d have _this thing_ goin’ on,” Lola throws her hands up dramatically, forming quotation marks in the air, “which I can only assume is summing to do with wi’ this _boyfriend_ he’s after. Honestly, I wish I’d never given him the flamin’ number.”

Callum hums in agreement, shaking his head a little. “Must be pretty determined if he’s willing to miss Lexi’s dance show for it,” he murmurs, glancing out of the window to feign nonchalance.

“Pretty _desperate_ more like,” Lola grits, “I could wring his neck, Cal, I really could. I ain’t told Lexi,” she adds, and Callum feels a tinge of guilt in his gut as he spots the sadness in her eyes. “I was gonna do it this mornin’ before I took her to the venue, but she was so excited, a-and I just…”

“You didn’t wanna upset her,” Callum cuts in, finalising his friend’s sentence, “I get that.” He pauses, reaching reassuring hand over to Lola’s wrist, but removing it just as quickly as a thought intrudes the peace. “What are you, uh...what are you gonna tell her when she comes off stage? Y’know...an’ realises Ben ain’t there?”

Lola scoffs in response, her brow faltering in disbelief, as though the answer is obvious. “I’m gonna tell her the truth, Callum.”

“What, that he’s out boyfriend huntin’?”

_“No,_ that her dad’s a selfish prick.”

“Oh,” Callum mouths, a slightly bewildered, almost _bemused_ expression breaking out onto his face, “got it.”

Smiling back at him, Lola chuckles to herself a little; dragging Ben’s name through the mud is an evident relief for her. The momentary silence presents Callum with the opportunity to reflect on things; to reflect on the man he’s due to spend the evening with. He feels angry, not only with Ben for having such futile reasoning for missing his daughter’s performance, but with _himself,_ too. He’s partially to blame for Ben doing so, or at least it feels that way, and that goes against Callum’s entire moral belief system.

_Ben_ goes against Callum’s entire moral belief system.

“Y’know it sounds selfish but…” Lola starts, holding the wine glass up to her mouth as she ponders, “I hope tonight, whatever it is he’s got goin’ on...I hope it goes _well_ shit for him.”

Callum gives her a knowing smile, feeling a sense of familial obligation towards her.

“You know what?” he reassures, “I reckon it might.”

…

The remainder of the day drags for Callum, with very little successfully distracting him from the evening ahead. Having left the cafe with Lola at around two-ish, he’d headed home with no further plans until 7pm, and Callum’s mentality is that the _sooner_ that arrives, the _sooner_ it’ll be over.

Only, the minute that it does arrive, Callum regrets it. He regrets the way that he’s taken the vacant hours of the day for granted.

Here, getting off the tube and walking to his _undesired_ destination, he mourns the episode of ‘A Place in the Sun’ that he paid no attention to this afternoon. He grieves the mindless 4pm conversation with Stuart about a football team he couldn’t care less about. He’s almost certain that he’d _kill_ to relive the momentary pause in the shower at 5, basking in the mild burn of the water upon his skin.

Such small things with such _huge_ appeal in contrast to this - arriving at the Artesian, some stuck-up, glorified _slave_ opening the door for him, and being greeted by no other than Ben Mitchell, his smug demeanour boldly visible at the bar.

“Callum,” he grins, extending his hand out in a gesture so similar to that of their first meeting, yesterday, “thanks for coming.”

“I’m getting paid,” Callum shoots back, and his tone is far more abrasive than he’d intended, so he throws a somewhat _forced_ smile towards the shorter man, “I was always gonna show up, wasn’t I?”

Ben’s lips fall open a little, his mouth slipping an “oh” sound as his eyes widen at the response. “Guess I shouldn’t be too flattered then, ey?” he adds, cocksure enough to recover from the remark almost instantly, “I’m just a _job.”_

_And there it is,_ Callum thinks. It’s that arrogant smile, that self-assured aura that reminds Callum why he was so sharp with Ben in the first place. But, he is getting paid, after all. This is a professional arrangement, and Callum is at work.

_Work._

But, _hell,_ he’s going to find it extremely difficult _not_ to let his personal opinions get in the way here.

“Yep. Just a job,” the older man settles for, letting out a small, staged laugh, “although I ain’t used to workin’ in places like this, if I’m bein’ honest.”

Ben joins Callum in his steady observation of their environment, gazing at the dark lavender colour of the leather seating, accompanied by the rounded glass tables. There's dim lighting from the chandeliers that sets a very _particular_ vibe for the evening of the guests, and the ceiling to floor windows offer a night time view of the gardens beyond. Ben selects a spot beside such for them to sit, having ordered their first drinks and opening a tab up on his card for the two of them.

The latter, at least, is _certainly_ not on Callum’s list of things to complain about.

“So, what do you do, then?” he asks absentmindedly, attempting to plead ignorance to _all_ prior knowledge of the man before him.

Ben smirks, making it obvious to Callum that he sees right through it, although whether that be because he knows Lola will have mentioned it at some stage, or because his arrogance is at such a level that he assumes _everyone_ knows of his work, Callum isn’t sure.

“I’m a car salesman...well, _businessman,”_ the younger man offers after much silent deliberation, “I own the car lot on Albert Square.”

“I see,” Callum says, already aware of such, “do you, uh, do you enjoy it?”

Ben takes a swig of his beer, smacking his lips a little to lap up the taste as he shoots a smug grin Callum’s way. “Do I enjoy _what?_ Bein’ top of the game in what I do?” He adds a wink for good measure. “I love it, mate.”

Callum raises a brow, holding back the urge to pull a face. “Is that some kind of award you’ve won, or did you just decide that for yourself?” he asks, eliciting a chuckle from Ben.

“I don’t think they do awards for that kinda thing,” he shoots back, enjoying the challenge of softening the older man up to him, “but if they did…”

“Then I’m sure you’d be up against some _healthy_ competition,” Callum interrupts, finding it difficult to sit back and let Ben’s oversized ego take the reigns. It isn’t usually like him to be so unapologetically abrupt, but there’s something about this guy that just riles him up.

It could be to do with his loyalties to Lola. It could be to do with his prior knowledge of where Ben _should’ve_ been tonight. Callum can’t be sure, but there’s something getting his back up, that’s for certain.

“What about you?” a voice chimes, pulling Callum out of his momentary self-reflection, “what do you do with yourself? Besides...y’know,” he smiles, gesturing with a hand between the two of them, _“this.”_

Callum pulls the beer bottle away from his lips, mulling over how much about himself he should give away. “I wanna be a chef,” he confesses, shrugging as if it’s no big deal, “I guess the big dream is to, uh, to open my own restaurant or summing.”

“Ah,” Ben muses, appearing half interested, half _entertained,_ “see yourself as the next Gordon Ramsey, do ya?”

Callum scrunches his nose up, appalled at the very proposition that he could think quite that highly of himself. “Absolutely not,” he deadpans.

Ben’s tongue appears subtly out of his mouth, outlining his lower lip as he contemplates the other man’s self-deprecation. It’s something Ben isn’t used to, something he doesn’t usually surround himself with, and this kind of thing requires sincere response.

He isn’t used to that bit, either.

“Well, I’ll be the judge of that when you cook for everyone in Portugal,” he opts for, regretting it almost instantly when he sees the way Callum frowns.

“I ain’t been officially selected to go yet,” he shrugs, trying to mask the fact that he’s praying he _isn’t_ selected to go. Not that things _ever_ go his way when it comes to Rainie.

Ben hums agreeably in response, although his expression is a sure indication that he doesn’t agree all that much with what Callum is saying at all. _“Yet,”_ he practically sings, cocking his head to one side as he stares at Callum intently. “Your boss thinks you’re perfect for the job.”

Callum opens his mouth to point out that it’s _Ben_ who gets to opt if he’s suitable for the job, not Rainie, but the younger man cuts in again before he gets the chance. “Besides,” he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper, “I think you could do with the money to set up that little _chef shop_ of yours.”

The tone of Ben’s voice changes the atmosphere a little, and Callum suddenly feels he’s under scrutiny.

_Is Ben mocking him?_

He drops his own eyes to the table as a result, wishing he’d never mentioned anything at all. “S’probably never gonna happen, really, is it?” he murmurs, humbly.

The intensity of Ben’s gaze doesn’t falter. “Why not?” he asks, and Callum suspects an element of sincerity to his question. _Just a suspicion, though._

“Well, as you say…it’ll cost a lot of money, I guess,” the older man says, his mouth upturned into a slight frown, “a big risk, an even _bigger_ investment...I just couldn’t ever afford to make that kinda move, Portugal or _no_ Portugal.”

Ben nods in what seems to be understanding, but Callum knows that he doesn’t understand, he couldn’t _possibly_ understand. If he’s got money to throw away on something as outrageous as a stand-in boyfriend, then he’s got money to throw away on _anything_ that his heart desires.

“So, you carry on floggin’ a dead horse with this job instead, yeah?”

Callum’s eyes finally lift from the table in one swift movement, an incredulous expression on his face as he digests the comment. “Excuse me?”

“Well, no offence, mate, but, uh…” Ben starts, holding his hands up in mock surrender, one of which is clutching an empty beer bottle, “you don’t exactly seem to be thrivin’ in this field of work, if you know what I mean.” He catches the attention of a nearby waiter, ordering another two beers to the table without obtaining Callum’s say in such, and then he mutters, “but, then again, I ain’t sure _anybody_ could thrive on a career path like this.”

Almost involuntarily, Callum lets out a disbelieving laugh. The sincerity he’d suspected was evidently a false alarm, and he leans forward to accentuate his point. “Without a career path like _this,_ unbearable _pillocks_ like yourself would be goin’ to family weddings **alone** ,” he seethes, speaking through gritted teeth, “you ever thought about that?”

“Wow,” Ben stresses, his tone thick with sarcasm as he smirks, “if I’d known I was comin’ on a date with the path to _enlightenment,_ I’d ‘av worn a suit and tie.”

Callum scoffs, rolling his eyes as he rises from his seat in one abrupt movement.

“Where’re you goin’?” Ben’s voice sounds behind him, but Callum refuses to turn back around.

“Toilet,” he snaps.

And then he’s walking away.

Ben brings a hand up to his face, scratching at the light stubble that resides there. He watches as Callum goes the distance, and Callum can feel the burn of those two blue irises on him the whole time.

Once he finds himself in the privacy of a cubicle, he whips out his phone, tapping out a quick text message to Lola.

_**Hope tonight is going well for Lexi, and that Ben’s absence doesn’t get to her too much. Give her a big cuddle from me.** _

Of course, there’s nothing he wants more than to add to the message, to reassure her that Ben’s night _is_ going terribly.

That there is no way in _hell_ he’ll find someone to go to Portugal with. And, even if he does find someone, it _certainly_ won’t be Callum.

Everytime Ben made a pop at him, Callum snapped. He’s confident that Ben will **not** deem them compatible.

Only, as though there’s something of a warped and cruel destiny lingering, Ben taps out a text of his own at the _very_ time that Callum is thinking the total opposite.

It’s to Rainie.

_**Don’t consider Callum for any other jobs. I want him for Portugal.** _


	4. crossing the t's, dotting the i's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Hello Hello to _anyone_ that is still here reading this!! 
> 
> I can't apologise enough for fact that I've left this untouched for almost _5 weeks._ I've been so uninspired, and I couldn't bring myself to write it at all.
> 
> Regardless, I'll be damned if I ever leave anything unfinished, so I'm just going to continue as though that hiatus never happened...I hope some of you will join me in doing so :) 
> 
> Apologies if this is a mess, I've literally thrown myself back into it as though I have a _clue_ what the hell I'm doing. *spoiler* - I don't. 
> 
> Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your patience. 
> 
> Enjoy! Xx

Prior to meeting Ben Mitchell, Callum had accumulated a couple of ideas regarding how to spend his Sunday off that weekend. Seldom having time to himself these days, Callum had turned into a _planner_ of sorts, particularly when it came to his downtime. 

When you’re in a job like his, you spend most of your life being in places you don’t want to be, _around_ people that you don’t want to be with. 

Undoubtedly, it gets exhausting.

That’s why, when Callum gets the chance to _choose_ how he spends his time, he grabs at it with both hands. 

It’s rarely ever anything exhilarating; no life changing charity work or activity in the search of adrenaline. 

It’s just simple stuff. Living. _Being._

On this particular occasion, option number one had been a day spent _entirely_ in lounge wear, catching up on trash TV and ordering takeout _without_ Stuart’s influence for the first time in a long time. 

Option number two consisted of a couple of pints at his local pub and chatting a little with Mick, the landlord. He and Mick were friends, or so Callum liked to think, and a Sunday afternoon in his company was always a Sunday afternoon well spent. 

Mick never really pushes for too much small talk; never really says anything unless it needs to be said. It’s refreshing, really, that level of understanding from someone, and it’s also rarely found. That’s what kind of tipped Callum in that direction; the temptation of comfortable silence. Of acceptance and companionship outside of work.

But then, of course, there was option three, the option that Callum didn’t even know existed until it was happening. Stepping out of the shower to the sound of his phone ringing, his blood pulsing with pure dread at the sight of the caller ID. 

“Rainie, hi…” he utters cautiously, towel draped around his waist as he potters out of the bathroom, “everything okay?” 

His boss hums cheerily, and Callum pulls a face at the other end of the line, baffled as to why she’s giving off such a positive aura. “I just, uh...just called to see how you think last night went?” Rainie adds, her voice still an octave higher than usual. 

Callum’s nose scrunches up at the mention of the evening before, his entire body rejecting the idea as he reflects on the way things were left. 

_“Well, it’s been a pleasure,” Ben had said, his eyes all but subtle as they flickered towards the lower half of Callum’s face._

_“Right,” Callum had muttered in return, turning his head to the side in a bid to avoid the intensity of Ben’s gaze, “just go and see your daughter, will you?”_

And, _yes,_ in hindsight, it probably wasn’t Callum’s place to say, but _yes,_ he had brought up the fact that Ben was missing Lexi’s dance performance because of their meeting. It was bothering him to the point that he felt helpless to do anything _but._

“What is it you’re after, Callum?” Ben had asked him, head cocked to the side, interrogatively, “cause I, uh, I ain’t brought any medals of morality to give out.” 

The older man had suppressed a roll of the eyes, lips forming a thin line as he mustered up the effort to bite back a comment most inappropriate for work. “You should’ve cancelled tonight to see her instead,” Callum settled for in the end. 

And, Ben simply came back with, “if you were that bothered about me seeing her, _you_ should’ve cancelled tonight, mate.” 

Upon reflection, it’s hardly like he can argue that things were left on _amicable_ terms, but Callum tries to do so, anyway. 

“It was, uh...it went alright,” he offers nonchalantly, flicking on the kettle as he does so in a bid to convince himself of his own disinterest, “he was an interesting one, I’ll give him that.” 

_Not a total lie,_ Callum thinks. 

“Well, he must’ve thought the same about you, sunshine,” Rainie practically _sings_ down the line, “‘cause you’ve secured yourself a job.” 

Callum very nearly drops the mug that he’s grabbing from the cupboard, second guessing whether or not he’s misheard something. “I’ve... _sorry,_ d-did you say I’ve...I have to go to Portugal?” he stutters, hissing dramatically as he tries to multitask talking on the phone and making tea, consequently burning himself on the kettle, “is...is that what you said?” 

“He did say your hearin’ was a bit _naff,”_ his boss jokes, eliciting a roll of the eyes from Callum. 

“Am I goin’ to Portugal or not, Rainie?” 

“Yes, Callum, _yes,”_ she reiterates at the other end of the line, over-pronouncing the consonants to exaggerate her point, “you’re going. He wants you to go.” 

_Ben wants him to go._

Ben, the father of his best friend’s daughter, the person that Callum dislikes through word-of-mouth _alone,_ is going to pay for Callum to _pretend_ to be his boyfriend for a week. 

This is the very same person that Callum met last night, the very same person that Callum had _assumed_ was irritated by him, almost as much as Callum was by Ben. 

Surely there were far better candidates that Rainie could put to him? Surely there were far more compatible personalities within the agency than Callum? 

_Him and Ben couldn’t be further apart, they really couldn’t._

“Well, he obviously doesn’t think that, does he?” Rainie says assertively, snapping Callum out of his train of thought as he realises that he’s voiced his final thought aloud. He jumps a little, milk spilling over the edge of the mug as he attempts to pour some into his tea. 

“I suppose not,” Callum grumbles back, pottering into the living area with a towel still draped around his waist. 

The awareness of the fact that there’s milk on the counter and water dripping onto the floor creeps up on him, but he chooses to ignore it, having lost the will to live, entirely. Instead, he lets Rainie reel off any further details down the phone, knowing fine well that he’ll have to ask her to repeat them all in the office tomorrow.

And, when tomorrow comes, that’s _exactly_ what he does. 

…

“Err, I explained all this on the phone to you, yesterday,” Rainie snaps, “were you not listenin’ or summing?” 

_Nope,_ Callum responds in his head. 

He scratches at his chin absentmindedly, trying to appear as sincerely _forgetful_ as possible. “Sorry, I’ve, uh...I’ve got a memory like a sieve.” 

Rainie hums, although whether it’s in agreement or utter _despair,_ Callum isn’t entirely sure. She frowns at him, preparing to read off of the paperwork in front of her as she neatens the pile with a few taps against the desk. 

_“So, Portugal...”_ she sighs, “you go on Wednesday, and you’ll, uh, you’ll be there for a week, alright? Mr. Mitchell got in touch wi’ me this mornin’, and he says the flights are all sorted...obviously he already had his booked so I, uh, I left that bit to him,” she grins. “As always, you get travel insurance through _us,_ you get spendin’ money from us...oh, that reminds me!”

His boss’s speech halts temporarily as she starts raking around in the drawer below her desk. “I need you to go an’ change this,” she says, pulling out an envelope full of notes and waving them carelessly in Callum’s direction, “wrong currency an’ all that.” 

“Right,” Callum mutters, peering into the slightly jagged envelope, “and this is to last me the week, yeah?” 

“It flamin’ _wants_ to,” his boss scoffs, a disbelieving expression etched on her face, “you’ve got about eight hundred quid in there.” 

Callum’s eyes widen a little as he registers the information, moving the envelope around in his hands for further inspection. In doing so, he notices something scrawled across the front in black felt-tip, trying to maintain composure as he reads what it says. 

“Wh—this says _Ben Mitchell Deposit,_ Rainie?” Callum spells out, doing so with a disbelieving shake of the head. 

Rainie shrugs dismissively, “well, there’s no point waitin’ for me to sort the money out for you, is there? Just change that and then I can sort--” 

“You’re missing my point,” Callum interrupts, slapping the envelope back down onto the desk as he pinches the bridge of his nose with his other hand, “what I’m _sayin’_ is...i-if that’s Ben’s _deposit..._ Rainie, how much is he payin’ for the whole week?” 

His boss raises a single eyebrow, cocking her head to one side as though she’d just been asked whether _the chicken or the egg_ came first. “I don’t think that’s the kind of information I should be disclosing, do you?” 

“Well, I’d be interested to compare it to the wage _I’m_ gonna get from this whole thing,” Callum mutters under his breath. It’s a throwaway comment, a matter of speaking before he thinks, and the regret that follows is telling of the inappropriate nature. “Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“I thought as much,” Rainie deadpans, rising from her chair as she pushes some paperwork across the desk and over to the man before her. “Start filling that out,” she instructs, bluntly. 

“Where’re you going?” 

And, as though that _same_ warped and cruel destiny had continued to linger, Callum finds himself practically reliving the dialogue of the moment shared between him and Ben on Saturday.

Rainie doesn’t bother looking back. 

“Toilet.” 

Callum exhales loudly upon hearing the door shut, largely irritated by his boss, by this paperwork, by the fact that he’s being shipped off to Portugal to play happy families with an arrogant and self-infatuated _narcissist_ of a client. 

Don’t get him wrong, Callum has worked with _plenty_ of nightmares over the years; he works _for_ one, precisely. 

He isn’t usually the type to let opinions or grievances from his personal life cross paths with that of his professional life, but there’s something about Ben that just gets under his skin. 

Perhaps it’s the fact that Callum knows a lot about him, primarily through Lola. 

He knows of Ben’s absence, more so _emotionally_ than physically, throughout Lexi’s earlier years. 

At the time, according to Lola, Ben hadn’t exactly been comfortable within his sexuality. He hadn’t come out to anyone, he’d barely even come out to _himself,_ and so the demons that he was taking care of at the time were _far higher_ on his list of priorities than any kind of paternal responsibility. 

And, said demons presented themselves in a variety of ways, Lola had said. Drinking himself to _oblivion_ , dialling up the _worst_ kind of contacts, selling stolen cars, and often turning up to see Lexi with _stitches._

“Then again,” Lola used to say, “what kinda chance did Ben ever ‘av with an old man like _his?”_

But, Callum never really pushed when it came to that part. 

It hadn’t ever felt like his place to do so.

Sure, Lola vows that there’s a lot less of the _angst_ following Ben around these days, arguing that he’s _“grown out of that, and **into** something else.” _

And, that ‘something else’ is his work.

“He ain’t as difficult anymore, I guess,” she’d said to Callum once on a lunch break, “he’s just...he’s just busy a lot. More of a _daddy-day-care_ than an actual _Dad_ , y’know? He’ll do all the good stuff with her, the fun stuff, and Lex _adores_ him. But, he, uh...he ain’t always there when it counts.” 

Which, of course, Callum had seen first hand the night before, choosing a fake date with a man he’d _paid_ to know, over showing up to support his daughter at her dance show. 

Not only did Callum fail to see _why_ Ben would choose their arrangement over Lexi, but he couldn’t quite get his head around why their arrangement was a necessity _at all._

Ben hadn’t given all that much away as to why he needed Callum in the first place, let alone needing him enough to put down an _800 pound deposit._

Callum had asked the question, of course, frowning into his drink as he did so. “What exactly do you need someone over there for, Ben? Sounds to me like you’re just goin’ over to see family.” 

“Callum, Callum, Callum…” Ben had chimed with a raised brow. His tone was as casual as one’s tone could possibly be, but the weight of the statement rang loud and clear, “you ain’t met my family.” 

And now, somehow, here Callum was, crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s on all of this paperwork, ready to meet that very family in a matter of days.

…

The anxiousness settled within Callum’s stomach hasn’t subsided by the time he’s finished up at work, crafting itself a home within and compromising his appetite _entirely._

It’s strange, really, Callum hasn’t ever been one to get nervous because of work, primarily because it was exactly that. _Work._

But, then again, Callum hadn’t ever taken on a job as big as this before. 

He’d done two days _here,_ a long weekend _there,_ but this was a totally different ball game. This was 7 full nights, 8 full days, _168 hours_ playing the part of the doting boyfriend.

All in front of a brand new family. All in a brand new country. All for _Ben Mitchell,_ no less. 

It’s almost like his body knows the reassurance that he needs before his brain does, his feet carrying him out of Rainie’s office, into his car, and driving him straight to Lola’s place.

Whilst there was really no telling how she was going to react, she was the only person who could possibly understand - she knew what the job was like, she knew what Ben’s family was like, she knew what _Ben_ was like. If it’s reassurance that Callum seeks, then it’s his best friend that he needs. 

Even though her reaction is somewhat _far_ from reassuring, at first. 

“Are you taking the—” Lola snaps, stopping the profanity as she realises her daughter is within earshot, “are you taking the _piss?”_ she whispers. 

Callum shakes his head, lips forming a thin, somewhat _ashamed_ line. “I wish I was,” he mutters. 

“So he missed _half_ of our daughter’s dance show ‘cause he was gallivantin’ about wi’ you? Is that what you’re tellin’ me?” 

“Err, I was the reason he showed up for any of it _at all,”_ Callum defends, his voice at the louder end of a whisper. 

Lola scoffs, “very good of you, that.” She peaks her head into the living room, forcing a smile for Lexi as she catches a glimpse of her daughter watching the television, absentmindedly. “I’m just gonna shut this door okay, baby?” 

Lexi nods in response, barely even averting her attention, giving the go ahead for Lola to close the door as _calmly_ as possible. “How long ‘av you known about this?” she pries, refocusing on Callum. 

His eyes widen with innocence, placing a determined hand against his heart. “I only just met him on Friday, a-and by Saturday night he’d made his mind up,” Callum explains disbelievingly, _“God knows why.”_

“That’s Ben for you,” Lola sighs, massaging a finger and thumb into her temples, “he’s as impulsive as the day is long.”

A bitter laugh comes from the back of Callum’s throat as he pulls out a chair, sitting himself down. “Yeah I gathered,” he mumbles, “impulsive enough to take a total _stranger_ on a family holiday.”

“Not just any family, babe... _Ben’s_ family,” Lola points out as she takes the seat opposite, resting her elbows on the table, _“_ you really ain’t got a clue.” 

“Right, of course,” Callum deadpans, “well, thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

Lola shrugs. “I’m just tellin’ you how it is,” she says, her gaze sympathetic.

And, he knows that, really. 

Ben had even said it himself on Saturday night - _“you ain’t met my family.”_

But, the deposit has been paid, the paperwork has been signed, and there’s nothing that he can do. He just needs Lola to spoon feed him some worthwhile advice on how to handle Lexi’s dad for a week, now. 

“Shall I stick the kettle on?” the blonde offers, almost as though she had read his mind, “or do you need summing stronger than—” 

Callum hears it too, the opening and closing of the door that interrupted her train of thought, and the very nightmare that he fears is confirmed within a matter of seconds. 

“Daaad!” a distant, enthusiastic voice sounds as Lola darts a despairing look in Callum’s direction.

“Hello, princess!” 

The momentary pause only adds to the suspense on Callum and Lola’s end, with Ben probably picking Lexi up and spinning her around carelessly, completely unaware of the pairing that awaits him on the other side of the door. 

“They’re in the kitchen,” Lexi says, nonchalantly. 

“They?” Ben asks, his voice getting closer, “who’s _they_ , baby?” 

“Perfect timing, as always,” Lola mutters across the table, her tone lowered as the kitchen door gets pushed open. 

Callum’s head falls into his hands, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes and begging the very God that he doesn’t believe in to give him _fucking strength._

He lifts his gaze again as Ben’s voice sounds, and the Cheshire Cat grin that greets him is enough to make _sticking pins in his eyes_ seem tempting. 

“Fancy seeing you ‘ere,” he chimes, sauntering into the kitchen with his hands shoved in his pockets, “it’s all my favourite people in one place.” 

“Don’t start,” Lola shakes her head, pointing a finger into Ben’s chest as he leans over, his palms resting flat on the table. “You’re in the dog house just as much as he is,” she scolds, gesturing towards Callum with a nod of the head, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this.” 

“Give me a chance, Lo,” Ben’s posture straightens, holding his hands up in mock surrender, “it’s all happened a bit fast, I ain’t really had the time.” 

Lola bites back a scoff. “You coulda’ told me on Saturday at Lexi’s show.”

“I ain’t bein’ funny, Lola, but you didn’t wanna speak to me _at all_ that night, _”_ Ben argues, adding ‘and rightly so’ on the end as she raises her eyebrows, indignantly, “besides, it looks like _someone_ beat me to it.”

Callum blinks at him, flummoxed by the man’s audacity. “That _someone_ has a name.” 

“Boyfriend?” 

“Have a day off.”

“I’d say the same to you but, uh...I need you at work,” Ben smirks.

“I’m sorry, w-what ‘av you even come here for?” 

“My daughter lives here,” Ben says, matter-of-factly, and Callum huffs in return.

“Well, go in there and _see her,_ then.” 

Lola rolls her eyes as she witnesses their back and forth like a tennis match, rising from her seat to stick the kettle on. “This is never gonna work,” she comments, dryly. 

“It wants to, the amount of _dosh_ I’ve spent on him,” Ben shoots back, taking Lola’s seat and looking across at Callum profoundly, “but I’m sure it’ll be worth it.”

“Err, how much are you gettin’ for this, Callum?” Lola asks pressingly, her curiosity heightened by Ben’s remark. 

Callum feels his answer jam in the back of his throat, shifting uncomfortably as the intensity of Ben’s gaze becomes apparent. There’s no denying how attractive this guy is, tongue journeying across his bottom lip as he awaits the response, but realistically speaking, he’s looking at Callum right now as though he’s _priceless._

It’s certainly not something the older man is used to. 

“Not as, uh...not as much as Rainie, I can tell you that,” he stumbles out, eventually. 

“Thanks to me,” Ben says with a wink, lifting himself up slightly and patting the pocket that harbours his wallet.

Callum casts a despairing glance at Lola. “Is he always this arrogant?”

“Yes,” Lola deadpans without an ounce of hesitation, eliciting an offended heckle from Ben. 

“Great,” Callum exhales, kicking his chair back and standing up, _“great.”_

Ben tracks Callum’s every move with his eyes, a theatrical frown appearing on his face, “you off already, loverboy?” 

Callum ignores the remark, rather offering Lola an apologetic look. She lifts a reassuring hand, her expression telling Callum that she understands wholeheartedly. 

“I’ll call and see you tomorrow night, yeah?” he offers.

“You better.” 

He places a tentative hand on her arm as a gesture of goodbye, before looking at the younger man with a stone-faced expression. 

_That_ is the only farewell he’s getting. 

“Best get packing, Callum,” Ben points out, his tone brash as Callum heads for the door. 

He doesn’t turn around to catch the way Lola throws a tea-towel in Ben’s direction, equally as infuriated as her best friend, but he can sure as hell _feel_ Ben’s eyes on him. 

Even as he’s leaving, even as he’s saying goodbye to Lexi.

Ben watches him the whole way out. 


	5. knowing me, knowing you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, lovelies!! 
> 
> Thanks for your patience as I flit between my isolation fic and this multi-chap! It seems I'm a bit _rubbish_ at keeping on top of both, but I am trying! 
> 
> I really hope you all enjoy this chapter :) 
> 
> All the love xx
> 
>  **P.S** \- _yes,_ the chapter title should put the ABBA song in your head. It certainly did for me.

Tuesday had passed by with too much speed and _too little haste,_ leaving Callum with very little time to organise his headspace. 

There was a lot that needed to be done throughout the day; confirming transport details to get him to the airport, changing over the money that Rainie had given him, reading and revising the client information (also given to him by Rainie), and that’s before he evenhad the chance to _think_ about packing.

Being a man of his word, he’d called to see Lola in the evening, and saying goodbye as he left felt as though he was letting go for a lifetime. He _teared up_ when Lexi hugged him, having explained to her that he was going away on business for a week, promising that they’d see one another as soon as he returned home. 

“Daddy said _he_ was going away on business too,” she’d pointed out with innocence, her head buried between Callum’s neck and shoulder, “are you going away together?” 

Callum had looked across to Lola for guidance, her nostrils a little flared as she shook her head vigorously. 

“No,” he settled upon given Lola’s advice, “no, we’re not, darlin’.”

Lexi had been pretty satisfied with his answer, far more comfortable with letting Callum go than he was letting _her_ go. 

It was one week. **Just one week.** But, it was a week that sent a current thick with _dread_ through his bloodstream. A week that, for many-a-reason, he would rather outright avoid, basking in the comfort of Lexi’s little arms instead. 

When he’d arrived back at his flat later that night, there’d been four new messages awaiting him, each from the same number. 

_{20:10} **\- Are you all packed?**_

**__** _{20:11} **\- Make sure you have something smart for the wedding. No trainers.**_

_{20:11} **\- Excuse my manners. No trainers — please.**_

**__** _{20:32} **\- Airport for 8ish, I’ll meet you at check in. We’re Terminal 2.**_

Each message exemplified _perfectly_ why Callum had opted to leave his phone on charge whilst he visited Lola, knowing fine well that Ben having his number now would result in pre-holiday harassment that he did not want, need, nor _welcome._

Still, committed to the fact that this was a job he had been assigned to, Callum had responded in a manner that was both sufficient and civil in equal measure. 

{Sent, 21:24} _**\- Okay.**_

His plan had been to get an early _(ish)_ night, given that the taxi was picking him up at 7 o’clock sharp the following morning, but _said plan_ was scuppered by the sound of his phone ringing, waking him up just a little after midnight.

He tries his best not to snap, _believe him,_ he does.

“Ben?” Callum grumbles, his voice thick with sleep and his eyelids heavy, “what’s wrong? What is it?” 

An enthusiastic tone sounds at the other end of the line, seemingly _far_ more alert than Callum feels given the hour, “just a quick one,” Ben muses, pensively, “how’d you reckon we met?”

Callum pulls a face as he switches the bedside lamp on, squinting at the sudden brightness, “what are you on about?” 

Ben huffs down the phone as though _he_ is the one being inconvenienced, “you and me,” he explains, “when people ask us how we met, y’know?” There’s a pause. “Do we ‘av a story?” 

“I’m pretty sure it says at the top of the paperwork,” Callum mumbles, trying to re-jog his memory, “you got a copy, didn’t ya?” 

“Well yeah, but…” the muffled sound of sifting through paper is present at Ben’s end of the line, “...it says we met at a bar.” 

Callum rolls his eyes, tired and impatient. “There you go then.” 

“Right,” Ben mumbles agreeably. 

“Is that it?” 

Another silence follows, but the sheer _noise_ weighted within it is obvious to Callum.

Eventually, Ben cracks, voicing his unwanted opinion to the other man, “bit borin’ though, innit?” he grunts. 

“What is?” 

“Well, _y’know_ …”

Callum sighs, leaning back onto the headboard in exasperation. “No,” he deadpans, “I _don’t_ know.”

“Meeting in a _bar_ , of all places.” 

The temptation for the older man to lose his patience is prominent, but he manages to maintain composure, taking the deepest breath before he speaks again. “Okay, _fine,_ ” he exhales, “how would _you_ like us to have met, Ben?”

Ben hums down the line, coming off deep in thought as though he isn’t already harbouring the response on the tip of his tongue. “I’m thinking something with a bit more of a _narrative_ to it, y’know?” 

Callum grumbles in agreement, “right.” 

“You were a client at my car lot, maybe?” Ben offers, as though Callum has _any_ say in the matter, whatsoever.

“I don’t really see how that’s any more excitin’ than meeting in a—”

“Can you let me finish?”

Callum’s eyes roll in despair. “Sorry,” he lies.

“As I was saying,” Ben starts up again, dragging out his words in true theatrical form, “you came in lookin’ for a good deal on a motor, yeah? And _maybe_ at first you thought I was a bit of a prat.” 

There’s a nigh-on _choking_ sound from Callum’s end of the line, and he only just about manages to disguise it as a cough. _Maybe,_ he thinks, biting back the temptation to say it aloud. 

“But, y’know, the more you came back to negotiate and what not, the more we hit it off. So, you asked me if i was sing—”

“No,” Callum cuts in, knowing exactly where Ben is heading with such, “they ain’t gonna buy that.” 

Ben huffs down the line. “Who ain’t?” 

“Your family.” 

“Err, you ain’t got a clue _what_ they’ll believe,” Ben argues, although his tone is far from aggressive, “you don’t know ‘em, yet.” 

“No, but I know _me,_ Ben,” Callum says, his manner level-headed, “a-and for all I can play a pretty convincin’ boyfriend, I ain’t much cop at playin’ anything else,” he adds, _“especially_ not a flirt.” 

The silence that falls at the other end of the phone is thoughtful, but agreeable nonetheless. “Yeah,” Ben ponders, “come to think of it, you ain’t got the bottle.” 

Callum tries not to be offended, pressing his lips into a thin line as Ben continues to ramble. 

“I came onto you,” the younger man concludes, “that’s more believable, init?” 

“Yes,” Callum says, bluntly, _“far more_ believable.” 

And it is, it really is. 

Within five minutes of meeting the guy, Callum could’ve vouched for that. 

_Before_ he’d even met him, from Lola’s word alone, Callum had an idea of such. 

And he’s pretty sure that the more time he spends with Ben, the more clarification he’s going to get. 

…

No sooner had Callum hung up on their call the night before, the early hours of the morning transitioned into dawn, and there was a taxi waiting outside of his flat. 

He’d had his alarm set for 6am, but if Callum was being _entirely_ honest, there was no need, because he’d spent the majority of the night drifting in and out of consciousness. 

In fact, he’s fairly sure that it was the dreaded prospect of the week ahead _coursing_ through his veins that woke him up from his eventual, measly slumber, _not_ the sound of his excruciatingly loud alarm tone.

Regardless of what it was, it had pulled him reluctantly out of bed and into the shower, forcing him to execute a final check of his luggage content. The same anxious adrenaline pushed him out of his flat, into that taxi, and _to_ the airport for 8am, just as himself and Ben had agreed. 

They’d made it through check in without any major hiccups; both of their suitcases were comfortably within the luggage allowance, and Ben kept himself to himself for the most part, more so because of how reluctant Callum was to talk than anything else. 

Truth be told, he just wasn’t a morning person - never had been, and never really envisaged himself being.

 _Ben, on the contrary?_ His stance on rising early was perfectly clear, talking about anything (and Callum quite literally means _anything)_ to anyone that was willing to listen as they queued for security. 

Unfortunately, the only listening participant that Ben seemed to target was Callum. 

“I hate this bit with a passion,” he’d chimed within a second of joining the line, chewing on some gum at an obnoxious volume, “absolute pain in the arse.” 

_“Jesus,_ is that you?” was the following jibe, gawping at Callum’s passport photo with little subtlety. The older man had snapped it shut, pulling his passport away from Ben’s reach, but Ben continued to give his opinion. “And I thought mine was bad,” he’d mumbled, “you look like _Jack the Ripper.”_

“I hope I get searched down by blondie over there,” was his next attempt at conversation, with Callum rolling his eyes _so far back_ that they practically returned home. 

“Do you ever give it a rest?” the older man had huffed, moving forward with the line and _half hoping_ to leave his company behind. 

Ben had clicked his tongue with a simultaneous wink, eyeing up the staff member in question, unapologetically. “I dunno,” he’d said, “I would if he asked me to.” 

The only response to Ben’s running commentary that Callum had deemed both a) sufficient, and b) _professional_ , was a deep breath, practicing such on multiple occasions within that short experience _alone._

He wanted their _(his)_ time in the airport to be as stress-free as possible, and for such to be the case, he had to master keeping his cool, doing his job, and somehow tolerating this egotistical _idiot_ beside him. 

Still, Callum had managed, surviving Ben’s somewhat _unnecessary_ spending in duty-free, and even sitting through a civilised pintwith him before the gate number was announced.

The Lord, _should there be one,_ had most certainly tested him today, but Callum had made it through.

 _Well,_ so far, anyway. 

They haven’t left the ground yet, after all. 

Ben stares out of the window, seemingly disgruntled as he observes the wings of the jet that they’re on. His boarding pass was, _of course,_ for the middle seat, but he quickly upgraded after point-blank refusing to sit there, leaving Callum with no choice but to swap their seats. 

He sighs loud enough to catch the older man’s attention, folding his arms petulantly as he does so. “I hate flying,” he grumbles. 

Callum nods, leaning slightly over Ben to take in the view of the runway that he’s missing out on. “Noted,” he replies. 

“Then again,” Ben chimes, glancing out again thoughtfully, “I hate a lot of things.” 

“Such as?” 

Ben averts his attention to the laminated safety card tucked into the pocket of the seat in front of him, pulling it out and scanning it with his eyes, not actually taking anything in, of course. “Indecisiveness, avocado, golf—”

“Golf?” Callum interjects, and Ben glances at him quickly with a look that says _‘well isn’t it obvious’._ “It’s not a sport,” he deadpans, before muttering under his breath, “it shouldn’t be, anyway.”’

Callum side-eyes him, bemusedly, “got it.” 

“Politics, Piers Morgan,” Ben starts up again, “heavy metal music, slow walkers in the street, _kids,”_ he adds, pulling a disgusted face at that last suggestion, and Callum raises his eyebrows. 

“You’ve got a kid, Ben,” he points out.

“Lex is _my_ kid, Callum,” Ben states, shoving the safety card back into the seat pocket. He looks across at Callum with a self-assured smile, “she’s in her own league.” 

And, for the first time, they appear to be on the same page; Callum absolutely couldn’t argue with that. He cranes his neck slightly to witness the procedural safety demonstration from the cabin crew, not at all surprised by the fact that Ben is paying next to _no_ attention. 

Sure, Callum isn’t really taking any of it in; he’s fairly confident that a lot of people won’t be. But, it’s just not in his nature to be so boldly ignorant as to not cast a single glance in their direction, and so he watches, seemingly attentive but somewhat inattentive, deep down. 

His pretence is interrupted by a nudge to the ribs, perhaps more aggressive than the younger man had intended for it to be. It elicits a whispered _‘ow!’_ from Callum, who glares at Ben with a resentful expression. “What was that for?” 

“How well should we know each other, d’ya reckon?” he asks, obviously skipping over the due apology. 

“I don’t know,” Callum whispers back irritably, still making a feeble attempt to look interested in the demonstrations of the cabin crew, “how long do your family think we’ve been together?” 

Ben shrugs, chewing at one of his finger nails. “A few months, maybe.” 

_“Maybe?”_

“Well, I dunno,” Ben matches the irritation in Callum’s tone, “mum was too excited about the fact that I’d finally _met someone_ to care.”

“Ah,” Callum mutters, still not giving the other man his undivided attention despite the presentation from the cabin crew being over, “that much of a shocker, was it?” 

He expects Ben’s reaction to be aggrieved, bracing himself for a shove in the arm or some kind of insulted sound at an unnecessary volume and pitch. Instead, Ben just tilts his head back and closes his eyes, humming in agreement. “Yep,” he says, and Callum can’t decide if he’s trying to appear nonchalant about it, or whether Ben truly couldn’t give a _toss_ what his mother thought, “the lot of them were floored.” 

Callum smirks to himself, opening his mouth to reply, but Ben continues to talk beside him. “I don’t really do commitment,” he muses, his demeanour relaxed and his eyes still shut, “sex is like a hobby to me.” 

The older man doesn’t reply, and Ben doesn’t seem to be waiting for him to do so, either. It’s just a concept entirely foreign to Callum - the premise that a person could connect with someone else in that way without feeling a thing. 

Prior to getting the job, he’d only ever been in one proper relationship, that of which lasted on and off for about three and a half years. 

Callum met him back when he was working as an apprentice chef in Central London; single handedly the most stressful, emotionally-draining post he’d ever held in his lifetime to date. 

Dom was a regular at the restaurant, and he was a little bit older than Callum when they dated. He was 23, Callum was 21, and it was the latter’s first ever boyfriend. 

At the time, he was convinced it would be his last, too. 

But, as it happens, things ended, and relatively badly for Callum, too. So, he tried to go out, he tried to participate in the _cliche_ of drinking to forget, winding up at some random guy’s house and engaging in his first (and most definitely **last** on this occasion) one night stand. 

Honestly, Callum remembers it like it was yesterday. Feeling used, feeling dirty, feeling nothing short of replaceable; an object at hand, a machine programmed to just _do,_ never to feel. 

Sitting here now, listening to Ben describe _that_ kind of experience as a pastime, and a _fun one,_ no less? Callum can’t quite get his head around it. 

In fact, he can’t help but feel a little sad about it, really. 

Still, it isn’t his place to pass any judgement; he paints on a bemused smile, offering a slight roll of the eyes. “Interesting,” he says, “so they’re really gonna think I’m the one that changed you, ey?” 

Ben cocks his head to the side. “No,” he returns bluntly, breaking the connection of their gaze, again. “I changed my own ways... _then_ I met you.” There’s an edge to his tone, and Callum can’t help but feel that Ben has a chip on his shoulder about such, flared up by the proposition that he would _ever_ change his ways. “I don’t _change_ for other people, Callum,” he continues, jaded, “not ever.”

Callum goes silent, blinking a few times to digest the rapid change in atmosphere. He contemplates the different options at hand in terms of how to react, but Ben’s body language suggests that _no reaction_ is perhaps the best chance Callum has got here. 

His arms are folded, his eyeline firmly set on the view _outside_ of the jet window, and he’s shifted himself slightly left, away from the older man. It’s a visual warning sign, for sure.

“Okay,” Callum murmurs, more to himself than anything else.

But, Ben doesn’t say a word. 

…

Their flight, as far as practicalities go, couldn’t have been any smoother. 

There were no delays, there was very little turbulence, and the flight attendants couldn’t do enough for everyone... _well,_ for _Ben,_ anyway. 

After the minor shift in atmosphere before take-off, Callum had pretty much accepted that the rest of the journey was going to be slightly uncomfortable, settling his head back on the seat in preparation to sleep away the flight. He wasn’t entirely sure _what_ it was that caught such a nerve with Ben, but he was fairly certain that the matter wasn’t going to be revisited again. 

Ben evidently didn’t want to discuss it, Callum couldn’t be _arsed_ to try discussing it, and that was that. 

But, the very second that the refreshment trolley arrived, Ben took it upon himself to order two drinks (double measures of course), and no sooner had he knocked them both back, he wanted to talk again. 

And, whilst it was on Ben’s terms (as per the normal, it seemed), Callum was willing to grab at the higher spirits with both hands, never having been one to manage awkward silences or uneasy atmospheres all that well. 

They didn’t talk about anything particularly groundbreaking, using the time to try and bounce a few facts back and forth, those of which someone would expect a couple to know about one another.

The exchange of information seemed to be going well, all until Callum suggested they test their knowledge in the last half an hour of the flight. 

Sure, he could recount almost _everything_ that Ben had told him; his memory wasn’t entirely shot, he’d read the notes from Rainie, **he’d listened.**

_But, Ben on the other hand..._

“My favourite takeout?” the older man had quizzed. 

Ben clasped his hands together. “Easy,” he announced with unwarranted confidence, “pizza!” 

“Chinese, Ben,” Callum had sighed, “I literally told you this _five_ _minutes ago.”_ There was a disappointed pause, giving Ben a moment to gather his thoughts, and then, “my favourite film?” 

The younger man pulled a face. “No idea,” he dismissed, “Pretty Woman.” 

“Wh— _no?_ Why would you—”

“Just thought of a classic.”

“I literally _just told—”_ Callum started, but he gave up just as quickly, “no, Ben, it’s not Pretty Woman.” 

And even _then,_ he’d powered through, blindly optimistic. 

“Okay...what’s my biggest pet hate?” 

“When you tell someone summing an’ it goes in one ear and _out the other?”_ Ben had jibed, mockingly. 

“You know what?” replied Callum, highly irritated, “I’ll give you that.” 

From what he knew about Ben’s family and what _they_ knew about Ben, Callum supposed that they wouldn’t expect the younger man to be all that attentive, anyway, not even to his “boyfriend.” 

For that reason, alongside the preservation of Callum’s sanity, he’d just left it at that, grateful for the moment the plane finally hit the ground, and they were able to disperse with the crowd into Faro airport.

“I’m starving,” Ben whines as they leave security, bundling their way towards baggage reclaim, “absolutelystarving.” 

Callum readjusts his hold-all, swinging it around from the side to his front and setting out to open it. “I’ve got some crisps in my—”

“No,” huffs Ben, his attitude akin to that of a child mid-tantrum, “I don’t want crisps.” 

Callum pinches his lips together, letting go of the zip on his hold-all as quickly as he’d taken hold of it. “Suit yourself,” he mutters under his breath, observing the crowd gathering around the conveyor belt, “looks like this could take some time though.” 

There’s a hum of agreement beside him, although when he casts Ben a glance, the younger man is paying little to _no_ attention, tapping something out on his phone instead. 

“Oh, that reminds me,” Callum muses, hovering politely behind a family of four, “I need to let Rainie know we’re here.” 

“Of course,” Ben replies, apparently agitated by the distance between himself and the conveyor belt. He squeezes himself obnoxiously into the gap between the family of four and a young couple beside them, still speaking as he does so, “I keep forgetting you’re at work.” 

Callum observes the look on the face of the mother that Ben has _shoved_ himself past, her expression threatening a confrontation, but the tentative hand her daughter puts on her arm tells her that it just isn’t worth it. 

And, _yeah,_ Callum definitely doesn’t forget that he’s at work, that’s for certain. 

Once they’ve collected their cases, they head for arrivals, the heat from the sun blaring through the glass as taxi drivers stand patiently, holding the names of their clientele on a piece of paper. 

“Will, uh, will one of these be for us?” Callum asks, scouring the crowd in search of their name. 

Ben seems to be searching too, his eyes scanning the faces head of theml, but he’s looking _beyond_ the names on the pages. “Nope,” he answers definitively, his gaze settling just in front of the revolving doors. 

It comes as a shock to Callum, the sudden contact, fingers linking loosely with his own, and his initial reaction is to try and pull back from it.

Sure, he knows this is part and parcel of the job - holding hands with someone you barely even know - but amidst a bunch of strangers in an airport, he didn’t see the necessity in doing so. “Everything okay?” he mumbles, his eyes flitting between Ben's face and their intertwined hands. 

“There’s our lift,” the younger man replies, and he’s flashing a smile at the lady standing by the revolving doors. She’s waving her arms wildly at the pair of them, and Ben is tugging a baffled Callum forward as she does so. 

“Party’s arrived,” Ben chimes, breaking their hands apart and leaving his suitcase at a standstill as he embraces the lady before him, and her expression is elated, somewhat _emotional,_ as she hugs him back. 

When Ben let’s her go, she turns to Callum, the Cheshire cat smile still residing on her face. There’s a glimmer of expectation in the woman’s eyes, and only when the other man begins to speak does it dawn on Callum that his job has _officially_ begun. 

“Mum,” Ben says, an arrogant pride outlining his tone, “this is my boyfriend, Callum.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I'm **smudgensmitchell** on tumblr - come and say hey!! :)


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